The 10 hour train journey has started and we are heading back to Toronto to fly back to the UK on Saturday. Two big advantages happen because of this: the obligatory bad French gets left behind in Quebec replaced by a very strong American ‘Top Cat’ English, and a slight relaxing of the vaccine pass, mask wearing, hand sterilising neurosis as Toronto is not quite as fanatical as Quebec although having said that we have already been handed both a hot and a cold hand sanitising towel that will apparently kill 99.9% of anything.
We are sat on a dated train with patterned carpet and faded upholstery, as we’re in business there are cabin crew rolling up and down the aisle with coffee pots and airline meal trays, speaking a mix of bad French, americanised English and a mix of the two. They stop at the first row and offer coffee, a very large American women responds by asking for as many ‘creamers’ and sugars as possible: ‘I don’t like coffee, but if I can have 5-6 creamers and sugar I can drink it’.
A meal tray is delivered comprising multiple dishes and packets; the main dish consists of a very overcooked ‘cheese’ omelette or as the lady behind me calls it ‘l’omelette’. L’omelette is probably a good name for it as it is definitely unlike any omelette I’ve ever eaten. There is no sign of cheese, neither is there any seasoning, it is similar to eating the inside of a foam seating pad.
Being ‘French’ there is also no vegetarian option, the l’omelette is served alongside some very pink slices of spicy sausage, a few potatoes and a couple of tomatoes, across the top of it all is two very overcooked asparagus spears as though the chef couldn’t make up his mind if this was breakfast or lunch.
We are informed that we are allowed to loosen our masks to eat the meal but that the mask must be replaced as soon as the food is in.
It strikes me that the French Canadians are a very weak shadow of a real French person, a real French person could never be given such a stringent set of rules and dictates regardless of whether they have any health benefit. There would be an armada of fishing boats, train strikes, Yellow jacketed protests and angry banners raised at the mere hint of a human rights incursion.
Meanwhile at the back of the coach the fat American lady calls out for more creamer ‘I’ve put 6 in it but I can still taste the coffee’ she yells at the stewardess who grabs a further handful of creamer and sugar sachets and plants them onto the fold out table, ‘thank you’ says the lady, ‘I can keep it down with more creamer’.
Aside from the hot dish on the tray, there is also a neat fruit salad dish and a croissant in a packet. The fruit salad is super chilled but edible, however the croissant has the texture of a tennis ball, hard edges, squashy middle and is inedible.
The cabin crew make a further round with the coffee pot and without being asked deposit a bag of creamers onto the fat Americans table: ‘thyank—-yeouw’ she responds.
Following the meal I take a trip to the toilet, as you would expect it is polished and shiny and makes our British train toilet look like an open cesspit.
On my way back I notice two things; the first is a table of four strangers who have been chatting nicely with each other throughout the journey, one of the four has taken out her medication bag which resembles a very large hat box, laid out inside appears to be approximately 30 bottles of pills with hand written names and numbers on the lids.
As she takes one or two pills from each bottle and lays the multi-coloured beans out on a napkin the lady recounts to her enthralled audience what each pill is for and each of her ailments and diseases. She goes into great detail regarding the bad taste of one pill and the repercussions of another.
The second thing I notice is the size of ‘creamer lady’ and her companion, they spill out of their seats and half fill the space on either side. The companion’s check shirt is large and would easily make a table cloth for a family table.
The group of four are now listening to a more detailed and prolonged recital of ‘pill lady’s’ maladies, some have dropped off to sleep but one is being very attentive and chirping out the occasional question out of politeness; words like ‘hyper’ ’emergency’ and ‘glove’ are all I can discern, but it’s enough to get the picture.
I fall asleep too, the drone of hypochondria is like a lullaby, monotone and low only raising its voice to highlight a particular drug or event. I wake suddenly a few minutes later and hear the end of a passage regarding something being stuck back on……being drug free….and slightly raising a leg helps digestion…
We change trains at Montreal and board the number 67 train to Toronto. Liam seats us in seat 12 instead of 11 so there is a seating kerfuffle whilst we reseat ourselves in the correct seat. Shortly after a young punk lady who resembles a multi-coloured fluffy toilet seat cover or young Madonna in Desperately Seeking Susan with enhanced colour.
She seats herself next to an elderly tall man who looks like he deals with dead bodies on a daily basis. Madonna leans into him and exclaims in her high pitch Donald duck voice: ‘just to warn you, I have an extremely small bladder and will need to use the toilet regularly,’ the man responds ‘that’s fine, just wake me if I look like I’m asleep.’
The drinks trolley trundles down the aisle this time serving alcohol, Madonna asks the steward ‘Am I allowed to order a double as a complimentary drink?’ To which he replies: ‘it is wine or beer’. She orders a red wine and downs it in one, following which she goes to the toilet.
Mark, Quebec City to Toronto Train, 21 October 2021
Thank you, delightful wordsmiths! I am so grateful for the narrative of your travels. I have laughed, smiled, smirked and put my tongue in my cheek inequal measure. Hope to hear so much more on your return.
Maz x